


On The Street Where You Live

by mildlyholmes



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Berlin Wall, Cold War, F/M, but more of revolutionary christine tbh, i hate exams, in which i am sick and tired of A Level History, revolutionary erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildlyholmes/pseuds/mildlyholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A nation and its lovers, united again.”</p><p>—In which Erik is a West German, and Christine is an East German. Set towards the end of the Cold War, a result of too much A Level History.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Street Where You Live

**Author's Note:**

> Because every ship needs a Fall of the Berlin Wall AU.
> 
> Essentials: glasnost, a term I use quite regularly here, is the policy of 'openness' Gorbachev had introduced during his leadership.
> 
> The first speech I have used is by Reagan, who's presidency breaks away from the peaceful policy of détente during the 1970s. The second speech is by Schabowski, who was the spokesman of the East German Communist Party Politburo. He mistakenly announced that the borders would be open immediately.
> 
> This is unbeta'd and was written in the middle of the night, so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

_"General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate. Mr Gorbachev, open this gate. Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"_

* * *

The first time Christine hears the speech, she calls Erik.

She picks up the despairing telephone he had given to her when they had last met, pressed into her hand with an urgent, "Don't lose it," and a strip of paper with a hastily written number scrawled across it. The plastic is cool and foreign against her ear, outdated from her years of use. Her father and the Valeriuses watch her with furrowed brows, often distracted by the cheering that sounds from their little radio.

He picks up on the second ring. "Christine?" his melodic voice rasps, grainy and unclear, but the sound of his voice sends a rush of relief to her chest and she closes her eyes, taking a breath.

She still finds it hard to believe that whenever she calls, he answers. It means that he's still alive.

"Erik," she breathes, her lips pulling upwards in a tentative smile. She wishes he could've seen it.

"Are you listening?" he demands urgently, voice crackling over the line. There are many calls going out to those fortunate enough to own telephones, and sometimes she cannot hear him at all. "...Reagan's speech, Christine? —Hello? Christine?"

"I'm here, Erik," she says, clutching the telephone tightly to her ear and brushing aside a wayward curl. "Yes, I'm listening. Can you believe it?"

"This might be it, Christine. Peace talks have been going on for months, and what with  _glasnost_ and all..."

Christine's eyes slip shut. She leans against the table she perches on, an arm folded across her chest and supporting the other that holds the device to her cheek.

For years, she and Erik had been separated. They had put up a fight—it would not be like Erik to calmly accept circumstances as they were—but while she had been confined to East Germany, he was struggling to reach her from the West. He had tried just about everything: protesting to the Soviet Embassy, marching up to the border and demanding to be let in, writing powerful letters to the newspapers, trying to illegally emigrate Christine, her father and the Valeriuses.

He failed each time, and each time he would tell her, "One day, my Christine, I will get you out of there. Nothing will separate us; I  _refuse_  to let it happen."

And so with a deep breath and heavy heart, Christine made a living in East Germany and waited.

It had been years since she had seen Erik, and with every day her father's smile slowly faded at each mention of leaving the Soviet bloc. She had fiercely clung onto hope—shouted at her father, reminding her little family of life before the Wall. And when she found herself slowly abandoning the idea of ever leaving, she would brush a thumb over Erik's ring on her fourth finger, silently crying into the night, mouthing, "I'm sorry."

It had been years since she left her hopeless cause behind. She had never spoken it aloud; Erik would have torn down the wall himself had he known what she was thinking, and probably get shot while he was at it. And while her heart ached to see him once more, an Erik she could never see again was better than a dead one. So she kept her mouth shut and unenthusiastically agreed at his bold claims to bring them together again over each telephone call.

But now, hearing Reagan's speech, knowing that Gorbachev is not violent like his predecessors, listening to the possibilities of free speech, free thinking and a more independent Eastern Europe...

Hope burns and flares with a renewed passion within her chest.

Her Erik, ever the revolutionary. Protesting and writing, using his  _voice_  when hers had been taken away.

Her heart swells with pride to think that he had been heard.

"Christine, it's almost over," he's saying now, and she forces herself to listen to him even as the line goes unclear. "We will be together again soon."

"Yes," she agrees for the first time since she had accepted her fate. Her hope is steadfast and wild, daring to be defied now. "We will."

* * *

She has to wait two more years until she sees him once more.

It is agony to sit and force patience, especially when she knows Erik is not far from her if not for the Wall that separates them. Her father plays his violin for small crowds and she accompanies him with her voice. What was once a divine instrument is now uninspired and hollow, and she cringes whenever she stops to actually, properly  _listen_  to herself rather than let her mind wander during their little performances. She thinks about what Erik would say, and concludes that he would probably threaten to shoot her if he didn't love her so much.

Her father's hat lies silently by their feet. It is a blessing enough to receive a few  _marks_  that add to their meager salary, a standardized amount distributed to all under communist rule.

Professor and Mama Valerius contribute to the education industry, but their knowledge is neglected through the strict education syllabus of the German Democratic Republic. Two years pass and Christine comes home everyday to a group of people who are once again giving up ever living a life apart from this.

But Christine cannot give up. She has heard of too many arms limitations talks to think about losing hope, too many movements in other countries and protests that had arisen from  _glasnost_. Erik speaks to her about the Soviet leader's order against violence and interference in foreign countries and with each step forwards she laughs with glee, knowing that soon enough, the Soviet Union would fall.

1989 arrives and Poland is no longer communist. Eastern Europe roars with nationalism and Christine roars with them, raising her voice in a song of the reunification of her country.

_"Ich bin Berliner! I am a Berliner!"_

No matter how hard the Soviets want them to be a part of their empire, the people on each side of their wall are inherently German and Christine lets her voice soar with this declaration. She sings songs of the nation, of her pride as a  _German_  that does not belong to the East or West. She sings of national pride and runs whenever the  _Stasi_  are in sight. Erik is doing the same in the West, and she is giddy with excitement from the knowledge that she is not alone.

Hungary's border with Austria falls, and suddenly every family she knows is packing up, taking the opportunity to seek freedom while they can. Her father gathers their belongings with her, but Mama Valerius is too ill to travel with them since the Professor had passed. With heavy hearts and a promise to come back for her, Christine and her father flee to Austria with nothing more than their essentials.

They reach Hungary but then the police are saying that they cannot cross, and deposit them at Budapest. The remaining East Germans feel angry and cheated, and Christine is one of them. She marches with them to the West German Embassy and shouts when they do, her once smooth face lined and distorted with her anger and betrayal.

_They were so close._

They are escorted back to East Germany in large buses and vans, and Christine sits on a random seat, back hunched and tired, cobalt eyes that had flared with determination only hours before now dim and empty. The bus is quiet; their cries of protest have been replaced by hopeless silence. She looks out of the window.

And catches a glimpse of white.

Her eyes widen and she wakens a few disgruntled passengers when she scrambles to the window, eyes wide and alert once more, scanning the streets for her beloved.

 _She couldn't have imagined_ _it—_

_It **must**  have been._

The wind rushes by, blowing her wild, dark locks into her face, and carries a faint shout of,  _"Christine!"_

She leans her head against the window and smiles. She is weary and exhausted and her hope has been crushed once more, but it is the closest she has been to him in over ten years.

* * *

_"Therefore, we have decided to introduce a bill today which allows every citizen to travel out of East Germany by way of the border crossing points."_

_"When does it come into force?"_

_"As far as I am aware, **immediately. Straight away.** "_

* * *

Christine can hardly breathe at the announcement. Her heart is thumping in her ears and the world has come to a standstill.

_...travel out of East Germany by way of the border crossing points..._

_...immediately. Straight away._

"Papa!" she screams, gathering her coat in here arms and hastily slipping it on. She shouts herself hoarse calling for him, but she cannot hear herself because the only thing she can think about is Erik, Erik, Erik.

_We will be together again soon._

_We will._

Christine grabs the telephone which has started ringing from the table. "Hello?" she answers much too loudly, but she doesn't care because it doesn't  _matter_  anymore,  _nothing_  matters anymore now she can see Erik once more, hold Erik once more, kiss Erik and cradle his beautiful, shattered face in her hands.

"Christine!" she hears him exclaim, his rich tenor raised in excitement. "I'm walking towards the wall right now, but there's a huge crowd—"

"I don't care," she interrupts, sighing in exasperated relief when her father finally rushes towards the door where she stands, clothed and ready to leave. She pushes the door open eagerly and rushes towards the direction of the Wall, occasionally checking that her father is still following behind her. Erik is right; even on the eastern side of the Wall, a buzzing crowd has already formed, shouting to be let through. "I'll find you," she states firmly as she forces her way through, her father following close behind.

"Christine!" her father calls behind her.

"I'll see you soon, my love," she speaks into the receiver, clutching the telephone tightly to her ear.

And for once, Erik's rich laughter greets her ears and sends a delighted shiver down her spine. Her face flushes from the cold and the wild, unbound happiness she feels, and she can't help but laugh as well.

"Yes you will," he agrees, "yes  _we_  will."

* * *

Christine wonders what she has done to displease Him so, because once again, she finds her hope staggered.

Once again, she is forced to  _wait_.

Apparently Schabowski had gotten the details wrong: the policy was not to come into force  _immediately_. The police at the gates stand confused but firm, regret etched into their expressions even as they deny the East Germans entrance into the West. The policy was for them to obtain a  _visa_ , they inform Christine and the group she stands with. And even then, they would not be allowed back into the German Democratic Republic.

Christine panics at this. Her belongings are all back in their little house, though she has brought her essentials—her mother's necklace, the silver hairpin Erik had given her, the telephone.

Erik's ring.

There is nothing that she will miss apart from a few dresses, and even then she's sure that the West has far more affordable and fashionable dresses compared to her dreary fabric. Her only concern is Mama Valerius, sitting on their little couch—but even then, Mama could simply join them in the West once they have crossed over.

Christine is determined not to leave without a fight, along with every other East German gathered in the large crowd. Everyone from every occupation field, gender and age stands as she does in front of the border crossing, shouting in protest. She raises her voice and yells with them; the knowledge that Erik is  _so close_  sets a flame ablaze in her spirit, urging her to speak.

She will see him tonight.

She  _must_.

Christine protests as she knows Erik does on the other side of the Wall. Her father is just as enraged as she is, and in a reckless, fluid motion, he raises his passport in the air and rips it apart with a strangled yell. Christine's eyes widen in horror.

They cannot possibly cross to the other side now.

Just as she is about to shriek at her father instead of the police, a different, distinct roar of approval sounds from within the crowd. With a sudden cry, men and women around them start to tear their own passports in protest, and Christine watches with startled disbelief as strips of paper flutter to the ground, the hard, paperback of the passports carelessly flung aside. She slowly turns to her father with a renewed determination.

And lifts her passport into the air, ripping it apart savagely.

A few people who had watched her roar in approval, but Christine has already turned back towards the gate, lifting up her destroyed passport in protest.  _"Wir wollen raus!"_  she screams with the rest of them. "We want out!"

Behind her, Charles Daae smiles.

* * *

It is 10.45pm, and Christine has just about given up, when suddenly the crowd starts moving.

A cheer erupts from all around, and she looks around frantically. "What's happening?" she asks desperately even as the crowd moves forwards, taking her with them. Her eyes widen in disbelief;  _can it be..?_

One look at her father's broad grin is the only confirmation she needs.

With reckless abandon, Christine pushes. She pushes enthusiastic citizens and unsuspecting crossers without so much as an apology, curls flying in all directions as she moves forwards, flushed and disbelieving but oh, so ready to see him again.

And then suddenly, the fence that had been in her line of sight for hours is behind her. The police raise their hands in a request to make way, and she can see that most of them are smiling. People all around her are embracing and celebrating, dancing in their newfound freedom.

The word is foreign on her tongue.

She is free.

Christine is  _out_.

Her head spins with the knowledge, but she pushes it aside. Erik is here somewhere; he had  _said_  it. She had told him she would find him.

And find him she would.

It is impossible to ignore the excitement that grows within her stomach, threatening to creep up her throat and escape into the air. She shoves and violently whips her head around, scanning the crowds for him.

"Erik!" she screams. " _Erik!_ "

She screams and screams until her voice goes hoarse, and the thought crosses her mind that he would be displeased upon seeing her. Erik had always prized her voice above all else, and would surely lecture her about abusing it.

The thought makes her giddy even as she cranes her neck above everyone else, searching for her masked love.

And then, impossibly, she hears a reply.

"Christine!" a voice howls through the shouts of others calling out to their loved ones, sharp and immediately distinguishable. Her head snaps in the direction of her name.

"Erik!"

"Christine!"

And then suddenly, impossibly, she sees him.

He is a flash of white amidst the sea of dark colors, even though his coat is as black as the night. The other half of his face is stretched in a wide grin, and he stands tall and regal, as magnificent as the day she had first met him. Even from this distance she can see the fiery glow of his golden eyes, burning into her with a passion that leaves her breathless.

Christine starts running.

She runs and runs and runs, desperate to catch him and sink into his embrace. It is suddenly unreal that she is here and that he is less than ten steps away from her, but if it is a dream, Christine vows to kill the man that wakes her.

A snide voice in the back of her mind comments that her time apart from Erik has made them more alike, but it disappears when she collides into him with a force that sends him staggering backwards.

The fabric of his coat is rough against her fingertips, and she grasps at his lapels, letting out a sob. The planes of his body are hard against hers and she presses herself into him, wanting to disappear within him, to become one being so that they can never be separated again.

She feels his fingers come up to tangle in her hair while another hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She closes her eyes against his shoulder and breathes in his intoxicating, musky male scent.

Her heart soars within her chest. She is finally where she belongs.

"Christine," he gasps above her, repeating her name again and again like a prayer. "Oh Christine, you're here."

"I'm here." Her reply is a catch between laugh and sob, and she pulls away enough so she can lift her head and gaze at him.

Her breath catches at the sight of him.

Ten years have not robbed her of his image; rather dulled it. She had forgotten just how sharp his cheekbones were, how arched his eyebrow was. The curve of his lips are forever ingrained into her memory—thin, though the bottom less so than the top—but seeing them stretched so widely makes her weep even more in her joy. He had not smiled frequently when they had been together, but now his smile is freely given, just as his embrace is. The golden glow of his irises stare deeply into hers, and she regards with a certain fascination that they mix into a wild ember, shining so brightly that she is reminded of the sun on a cloudless day.

Erik's gaze is warm and tender, and though his eyes expel no tears she knows that he is as moved by her as she is by him. A cold, spidery hand reaches up to stroke her cheek and she leans her face into it.

 _This_  is what she had been missing.

A laugh escapes her lips like a bubble, and another, and another. Soon enough she is laughing and laughing and he is laughing too, both of them bewildered by the impossibility of the situation but deliriously ecstatic to be in each other's arms once more. In fact, there are no words that could describe what Christine feels: she is walking amongst the stars in Erik's arms, chasing the sun in reckless abandon, alone with her lover in their own little paradise.

"At last," Erik breathes, cradling her face in his hands. She closes her eyes, feeling a bliss wash over her, leaving her clean and pure. He is a breath of fresh air when she has been confined in a cellar for over ten years.

Erik, once masterful in speech, seems to be at a loss of words. His mouth hangs open, lips delightfully parted in unsuspected surprise; her eyes latch onto his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips.

She simply smiles, reaching up to brush a hand through his silken, sparse locks. "Never again," she states, voice steady and firm even as her gaze remains gentle.

He seals their vow by grabbing her face in his hands and pressing his lips to hers.

* * *

 

It is eleven and fireworks light up the black sky, showering the night in sparkles and colour. A cheer erupts from the celebrating crowd of reunited Germans, one once more.

Charles navigates through the swarm of people, an observer to the wild celebrations taking place around him. The rational side of him tells him to look for his daughter, ensure that she is alright—after all, the crowd is thick and boisterous, drunk in their happiness—but he knows it is useless to do so. His daughter is surely rejoicing in the arms of someone else, and while long ago Charles would have been uncomfortable with the idea of his little girl with that dangerous, threatening man, he cannot help but feel deliriously happy at the idea.

He catches sight of two lovers that stand aside, the woman with wild, curly locks and the man with a stark, white mask covering the right side of his face. They are locked in a tight embrace, lips pressed against the other's, clutching each other tightly as if they would never be parted once more.

And as Charles watches his daughter pull back and smile—a true, genuine smile that lights up her features and sets her eyes aglow—before sealing their promise to never be parted with another kiss, he knows that they are each where they belong.

A nation and it's lovers, together again.

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my mind a few days ago, a result of revising for A Level History and the end of the Cold War. I think I've exhausted myself by reading just about every single EC fanfic on here, so to satisfy my daily need for EC as well as feel like I'm doing something productive with my time, I decided to write this.
> 
> More on glasnost: It basically allows for freedom of expression and movement (though in East Germany this is obviously limited). It is a break from the old style of Soviet control and spurs nationalism in the Eastern European countries within the Soviet bloc. During the late 1980s, there had been lots of arms limitations talks between Reagan and Gorbachev and a better relationship between the USA and USSR.
> 
> I hope that I have gotten most of the details right. I know that it is historically accurate in terms of the dates and speeches, but I'm not so sure about the GDR having telephones, for example. If anything I have written here is insensitive or offensive, please don't hesitate to let me know and I'll rectify that immediately.
> 
> The information I have gathered is mostly from Wikipedia, and I have based the EG protests on what I have seen on documentaries. The passport-ripping really did happen as far as I know, as well as chants of "Wir wollen raus!" or "We want out!", though I'm not sure if this was at the gate or not. And I've also done us all a favour by correcting JFK's "Ich bin ein Berliner" (translating to "I am a jelly doughnut") to its correct form (or at least, from what I have researched.)
> 
> Thank you so much for giving this little story a read! Reviews are greatly appreciated!


End file.
